


Inheritance

by meaninglessblah



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Slade Wilson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Fatherhood, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Jason Todd, Past Character Death, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Jason's wanted a kid for a while, Slade knows, but he hasn't said anything until now. Slade wants to talk about it.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Comments: 35
Kudos: 312





	Inheritance

“So,” Slade says quietly, letting his gravelly timbre carry across the room to the omega leaned back against the kitchen sink. “You want to have a kid.” 

Jason inhales heftily at his vocalisation, but holds his gaze even and firm. Defensive, Slade thinks. Scared, he knows. Then, he answers, caged but definite, “Is that going to be a problem?” 

_Yes,_ Slade thinks, because he’s a pessimist. 

And then, _No,_ because he’s a blind romantic. 

And finally, _It’s complicated,_ because he’s a coward. 

“That depends,” he hedges after a moment, and hates himself for it. 

Jason watches him, eyes unreadable in the shadowed, clouded light. He’s framed by what’s left to spill through the framed kitchen window from the empty street outside. The silver cloaks him, emphasising the rigidity of his shoulders and the tension in his crossed arms. He unfurls them as Slade stares, palms falling to the lip of the counter to alleviate some of his weight. “Okay,” he says with what Slade suspects is practiced patience, “Elaborate.” 

Slade’s had kids before. Had a beautiful wife and two beautiful children, and a posed family portrait on his mantle to prove it. Even the whole white picket fence to polish off the illusion of a perfect household. 

Slade’s raised kids before, from the moment they could fit in the cradle of his arms, through the first bicycle rides and the last flown kites, to the day he’d lifted them from his shoulders and set them steady on the ground and never picked them up again. Through the shitty, argumentative teenage years, and the even shitter argumentless years that had followed them. Slade’s raised a family before. Slade’s fucked it all up before. 

He's honestly not sure if he wants to risk fucking it up again. 

Sometimes Slade wonders if his children learned to crawl, to walk, to run, just to get away from him. If there was something he could have done to stop them from running. Taught them to stay. (Some days Slade’s remorseful). Never taught them to run at all. (Some days Slade’s ashamed). 

Some days Slade doesn’t know if he’d do any better a job if he could do it over again. If he didn’t do his best the first time around. And maybe his best just isn’t good enough, anyway. 

He and Adeline had done their best. He knows that, when he takes the time to breathe through the guilt, through the shame. Remembers their best times, an unstoppable force, formidable, enviable. A beacon for their children to aspire to, to be proud of. They’d had their worst times in front of their children too, of course; the fighting, the fists and the nails, the sharp-tongued words that don’t scrub out. Grant and Joey saw plenty of their parents growing up, and not enough of them. 

Radio-silent missions that dragged into weeks and months because Slade could make them if he wanted to. Thanksgivings at one house and Christmases at another. Slade hopes the snapshots of him his children hold are enough of a collage for them to remember him by. Hopes there’s not too many holes. 

And that’s just _his_ mistakes. 

Slade knows next to nothing about Jason’s past. Not from before his Robin days, anyway. They have a standing agreement that death things are best left dead, for both of them; it's neater that way. So Slade doesn’t know the first shred about what sort of household he grew up in, but he can read it all the same in Jason’s posture. In the guilty hunch of his shoulders and the uncertain crease of his brow. 

They both know what it’s like to be caught under the fists of someone bigger, stronger, more capable, more angry than a child. Well enough to know that no child should have to grow up in that. Long enough to know that shit happens, and sometimes kids do. 

They’re both trying to live in bodies that are too big, too strong. Trying their best to reconcile capability with anger, and sometimes they choose wrong. Sometimes they make the conscious choice, and they _choose_ wrong. 

Slade’s not absolutely certain that it would be different, for their kid. They wouldn’t do that, _couldn’t_ do that. Not to their own, not to anyone’s, not to a _child._ But then Slade pictures his father’s belt, and the roaring timbre of his voice. And how Slade had held Grant’s arm so tightly once that it had bruised for days afterwards, and how Joey had learnt to flinch under his bellow before it could become a belt. 

And he knows the guilt that Jason’s carrying on his shoulders, knows the uncertainty too well. It’s a hard thing, not to trust yourself. They’re both confident men; have to be, in their line of work. They know their capability. They hope they know their limits. But that doubt, cultivated from years of projecting their own faces onto their fathers’ hulking frames, is intrusive. 

He’s not sure he wants to bet a child’s life on his self-control. Or Jason’s. 

Slade trusts Jason. More than he’s trusted nearly anyone. More than he trusted Adeline, and he’s taken bullets for Adeline. From Adeline. Jason’s like her, and not like her at all, both at once. 

He’s stubborn, and fiery, and righteous. In all the ways that Slade admires and hates. The same bushfire-on-a-dry-plain that he’d fallen in love with in Adeline, Slade had fallen for in Jason. 

He’s softer than her though, more considerate, more willing to concede. Maybe that’s the omega in him. (Sometimes it seems like it’s the _only_ omega in him). He’s so forceful and waspish, so determined to _prove_ himself, that’s he’s _right,_ that he can take care of himself - that Slade forgets he can be gentle, kind, compassionate. _Vulnerable._ It makes him cherish those moments all the more, vibrant in their contrast. 

Jason’s got all the hallmarks of a good parent. Empathetic, protective, focused, attentive, sincere. 

He’s got all the signs of a bad parent. Impatient, obstinate, reflexive, uncooperative, splenetic. 

But it’s not as if Slade can call himself a saint either. 

Jason’s got a whole deck of father figures he can look to, precautionary and exemplary. Most importantly, Slade knows Jason will be himself regardless. A touch of Bruce here, a dash of Pennyworth there; the berth of Willis, the canyon of the Batman. But himself, definitely. His own kind of father. It gives Slade hope that he can reinvent himself too. That he can learn from his mistakes with Joey and Grant, his trials with Rose. 

Because a new life is a new chance. And more than anything else, Slade wants that, will always want that. There’s redemption in it. Shitty, placeholder, selfish, selfless redemption that he’d swore time and time over he didn’t need, didn’t want, didn’t deserve. But the universe has plans, Slade’s come to accept, and sometimes he’s not fast enough to catch them before he’s neck deep in the noose. 

But accepting that they’re creating a life means accepting that they’re creating a death too. Maybe not immediately, maybe not for twenty, or forty, or sixty years. Maybe not til he and Jason are dust upon the earth, will their child die - if they're lucky. But they will die, inexorably. 

Grant is dead. Slade lives with that truth every day. Rose and Joey… Some days Slade wakes with the fear that he’ll hear of their deaths too late to intervene, filtered down a grapevine to him, like he was some spectator in their lives and not their father. 

Honestly, Slade’s not even certain if he’ll die first. There’s a chance his regenerative powers, though not all-encompassing (his eye is damning proof of that) won’t slow. Won’t ease the ache of time over him the slightest bit. Maybe he’ll outlive Jason, maybe he’ll outlive his descendants. (And wouldn’t that be an ironic curse). 

So bringing a new life into this world comes with the expectation that they’ll be hunted. That they’ll be threatened and fought and punished for existing, for daring to be his child. Used as a tool against him, used as leverage, used as bait, used as recompense for the young blood he has spilt, for the young blood he will spill. As much as he hates to acknowledge it, that life represents a death. And damned if Slade’s going to outlive another one of his kids. 

“What if we die?” Slade asks, bluntly. He says it so because it’s a blunt question, a hard question. He’d asked the same question of Adeline, in a different context, in a different time. 

Jason’s lip quirks, and Slade remembers all the reasons he loves him. “We’re two for two,” he replies with that contagious bravado. 

One by noxious bubbling Pit, one by classified military experiment. Inquiring literary minds would have had a field day. 

Slade huffs softly, but doesn’t pull towards him yet. Doesn’t give him his answer yet. “What if they die?” 

Jason’s smile slips into cold focus. He swallows, grip tightening on the countertop. “Then they die. And we make sure we did every last fucking thing possible to keep them breathing.” 

There’s moment of hesitation, before Jason adds, softer, more solemnly, “When they do die… however it is, we let them go. They’re not coming back like… Half. Partial. Incomplete.” 

_Like you,_ Slade’s mind supplies, because he could read his partner with his eyes closed. And he can appreciate that sentiment. Not a day passes he envies Wayne for having his son brought back from the pass, from rest, from peace - only to have that gift shown for the farce it was. No father should have to watch their son have to sew the pieces of himself back together again. No father should have let him do it alone. 

“My enhancements…” Slade begins, and then frowns, corrects himself. “When Joey was born, he didn’t show signs of his powers for years. Not until someone took a knife to him. Grant never showed metahuman traits. But there’s still the chance-” 

“That our kid will be able to fly around a room, or shoot flames from their hands?” Jason asks wryly. “I think, of anyone, we’ve got a plethora of inspirational parenting sources.” 

Slade swallows, and Jason’s smile wavers. “Look, kid… I don’t have a great track record with metahumans. I wasn’t as good a father as I should have been to Joey.” 

“Should be,” Jason corrects bluntly, and Slade starts. The omega’s expression softens immediately. “Slade, you’re still his father, and Joey’s still your son. Us having a kid isn’t going to change that. Our kid’s not going to be more of a priority than your other kids, either.” 

Slade doesn’t want to think about his failures, about his failings. About the thousand wrongs he’s committed against his flesh and blood, about the hundred more he’s yet to commit. 

So he deflects. 

“What if they grow up and want to be a merc?” 

“Then they’ll have two great role models,” Jason says firmly, not budging an inch. 

“What if they want to be a caped crusader?” 

Jason’s jaw tightens, and then he smiles fondly. “Steph turned out alright.” 

“What if they want to be nobody?” 

“They’ll be somebody to us.” 

“What if they can’t be a nobody? What if we can’t give them that?” Slade presses, the words jagged. 

Jason moves toward him then, reaching out to wind fingers through his, press himself into the bulk of Slade. Tilts his head forward until it’s resting against Slade’s sternum, and Slade lifts a hand on automatic to squeeze the back of his neck. There’s a hot, heavy exhale against his bared skin, before Jason says, “We can’t promise anything. But we’re gonna do our best, regardless. Whatever we can do for this kid, we will. The best we can, every day of our lives. It might not _be_ the best, but it’ll be the best we can do for today.” 

He huffs, fingers winding in Slade’s shirt, pulling it tight against his skin. 

“And we help each other, always. Keep each other in check?” Slade feels him shift, and looks down to meet those depthless blue eyes, pinched with concern. “Can we promise each other that?” 

Slade holds his searching stare, and squeezes his neck again. Bows his head until he can meet Jason’s lips, pull him into a slow, smoldering kiss. When he pulls back, it’s only far enough to let Jason suck in a sharp breath, his nose tracing Slade’s cheek. “We can promise each other that,” he replies in a low, gravelly tone. 

The relief that winds through those blue eyes makes every single bad day worth it in Slade’s book. Jason kisses him again, once, quickly, a short peck to his lips that leaves Slade hungry for more. 

And self-control is a virtue, but it’s not one that he has to indulge right now. 

So he backs Jason up against the refrigerator, hands jumping up to cup his jaw, tilt Jason’s throat open so he can kiss him deep and hard before sliding down to mouth at his neck. Jason’s ragged breath as he drags in a lungful of Slade’s scent tell him everything he needs to know, and he crooks a knee up between Jason’s trembling thighs. 

“You want a kid,” Slade says, deep and firm, and Jason’s gaze slide open to meet his, hanging off every word. Slade crooks a smile that anyone would call smug. “I can give you a kid, sweetheart. Can't be too torturous, can it?” 

Jason grins, sharp and thrilled and wicked, and sinks his nails up under Slade’s nightshirt. They leave a searing trail of heat up the alpha’s sides, drawing a hiss of pleasure from his lips. 

“Don’t you know,” Jason purrs, arching his hips against Slade’s thigh, until Slade can feel the hard curve of his trapped cock. “Making the baby is the fun part.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old drabble that was sitting in my WIPs and I wanted to clean it out. I'm sort of tempted to write a few more slice of life chapters, just because I have some Dad!Slade art I've been holding onto. Thoughts? 
> 
> [Meaninglessblah](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah).


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